Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tamalehawk realized recently that not everyone loves muffins. He traces the muffin's malignment to several odious origins; stale towers of bran grenades at Days Inn continental breakfast bars, pallid Plexiglas prisons in gas station kiosks, and bland blueberry turds in a wicker basket at an 8 AM corporate quarterly meetings. It's really no wonder the muffin has become so divisive.
If you ever want to experience what a muffin can and should taste like, head to Angel Food Bakery, where the sour cherry variety or occasional ginger pear pairing will make your whole face remember the muffin's potent potential. These are so good that it is not without a flash of anger that you will place a piece in your tiny child's outstretched wing.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
And so begins Tamalehawk's annual apple gauntlet, wherein he tries to draft a rational strategy for dispatching a vast sack of apples that he carried across a mud-slung orchard in Wisconsin. He immediately started scouring scrolls, folklore, and oracles in an attempt to unlock the secrets of the ubiquitous autumnal orb.
Later, back in his lab, he kicked things off with an inaugural crisp. He added everything in his pantry, shoved it in the oven, and summoned his hunger. His largest flaw was panicking that it was drying out and basting the whole thing with apple juice half-way through. The result was an apple stew with some promising ideas - namely the raisins, dried cranberries, and amaretto, walnut, and almond topping. The missteps didn't stop Tamalehawk from drinking the whole dish for lunch the next day.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
One benefit of Babyhawk's new habit of waking up yawning before the crack of dawn is the prospect of breakfast. Long his favorite meal, he normally forsakes it in exchange for a few more minutes asleep and dreaming about food. He has to say though, the smell of coffee and toasting almonds is an equitable alternative.
One quick look at his laughable larder, still reeling from its recent cleaning, revealed only oatmeal as an appealing premier meal. Though he's loathe to boil oatmeal in just water when it could be apple juice, coffee, or chocolate milk, swirling butter and brown sugar into a pot of anything will make Tamalehawk consider greeting the day with a modicum of positivity instead of the dubious half-scowl he typically fashions his beak into.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Among the highlights of Tamalehawk transatlantic journey were the fifteen minutes he hovered in a wooden closet of a produce shop in the bucolic village of Dedham. Surrounded by fruits and vegetables nestled in crates and still warm from the earth, tree, or vine they were recently wrenched from, Tamalehawk wanted to cook a huge stew in the middle of the floor using only his unbridled enthusiasm as a heat source. Local baby leeks? Strange potatoes and mystical mushrooms? Come on! It was too much for him to take.
He thought he had everything under control until he tasted these local strawberries, whose color and luster could make you blush. He only needed to eat one to realize that all other strawberries ever consumed by anyone in the world were in fact stupid and fraudulent. Just to make sure it wasn't a cruel anomaly, he ate an apple, which immediately mocked him with its complete perfection and tasted sweeter than a tiny angel's prayers.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Tamalehawk has landed back in the states, wobbly, weary, and pleased from over a week of eating until his beak conceded defeat. He returned home to a devastatingly empty fridge and a jetlagged appetite that didn't know whether to eat breakfast or dinner. He split the difference by dining on the classic pizza with a cereal chaser.
He did get to shake the crusted rust off his trusty skills to make a traditional British roast with shown potatoes. The best part was a batch of homemade Yorkshire puddings straight from the pages of The Joy of Cooking. Tamalehawk waited with his trademark lack of patience as the rolls exploded from the morass of fat, proving to be a winning recipe that Tamalehawk has already remixed in his mind in nine ways.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
What may look like a standard ham sandwich stands up to much closer scrutiny when the ham was carved by a third-generation British butcher, the roll (or bap) was steaming hot from the bakery across the street, and the whole sandwich was consumed inside the walls of 16th century castle ruins.
Tamalehawk continued to stretch his wings by coasting low over the high street, sipping teas and chomping chips and wondering if ale counts as one of his "5 a day."
Monday, October 12, 2009
Having raced six hours into the future by touching down in the United Kingdom, Tamalehawk's biggest concern was all the eating he had to catch up on. Thankfully, he was immediately greeted with homemade scones, clotted cream, and jam. He ate three before setting down his bags.
The eating adventure continued with strange bacon, sausages, and premier austere beers. He soared over the ocean, communing with grizzled gulls and breathing in the sea spray. With no phone service, he's flying completely off the grid for the first time in a while, intent on descending for any delicious scent.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Tamalehawk found a moment mid-flight to alight on a patch of the tractate, between planning to span the Atlantic and cleaning his messy nest, to perform one of his favorite functions. Breading and frying some cutlets. He paired it with something green for Babyhawk's sake and slaked his thirst with a High Life just so he could remember what it is like to cook again.
For his recent birthday, he received a perfect surprise - two pounds of premium Neuske's bacon from Ladyhawk. Any gift that comes in a temperature-controlled cooler is right up Tamalehawk's alley. He'll ration the rashers in a steady fashion. In other news, Tamalehawk is off to England for ten days, where he'll try his best to document any culinary wonders he tears asunder.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Tamalehawk has been circling the churning skies, denied the time to ply his trade of tirades and abrupt judgments. To kick off his birthday weekend, he turned to Pillsbury cinnamon rolls with the orange frosting, a delicacy that used to elude Tamalehawk now safely back at his local grocer.
The second stunning discovery was that Cooper's, a barbecue artisan and sandwich crafter on Belmont, began in earnest of voyage into the dicey world of delivery. Finally, Cooper's now brought to his nest! The whole operation was tenuous - they didn't ask his address or phone number - but luckily Tamalehawk is an old pro at the whole process.
Friday, October 2, 2009
With the lapsed tractate on the verge of collapse, Tamalehawk doesn't even have any kind of actual food time to capture on film. He can only inspect the neglected collection of condiments and sauces with nothing of sustenance to cover. Where he once surveyed an array of entrees, now portrays a display of decay.
Culinary wings clipped, Tamalehawk has been drifting from pizza box to take-out bag, crowned turned down, scratching his ear patch, pondering fonder times when his appetite unfolded before him like a map, with taste sensations waiting to be investigated and judged instantly. His darting eyes scour the skies for a brighter horizon.